Daming: Brother, there is no future for monks, let's rebel

"Snapped."

The sound was not loud, but it was like a muffled thunderclap.

The street corner, where only a few people had stopped before, was now noticeably larger. The pancake vendors, the porters, and the clerks delivering documents all stopped in their tracks.

Someone whispered, "Is it really sealed off?"

Someone gasped: "The Ministry of War..."

The Imperial Guard captain glanced back.

The crowd immediately fell silent.

The first hour.

Inside the Ministry of War, there was complete silence.

All the doors of the offices were closed, and no one dared to come out.

Inside the duty room, someone was holding a cup of tea, but hadn't drunk a drop; the tea had long since gone cold.

The second hour.

Finally, someone couldn't sit still any longer.

An older official, having straightened his clothes, walked to the side gate and bowed to the Imperial Guards.

"My lord, I'm just going to the Ministry of Revenue to submit a document; it won't cause any problems."

The Imperial Guards didn't even glance at him.

"go back."

The official in charge stiffened, then forced a smile and said in a low voice, "This humble official has precedents to follow—"

"Old practice?" The captain finally looked up. "Now, there's no such thing."

The smile in charge froze on his face.

The moment he retreated, the doors of the surrounding duty rooms quietly closed even tighter.

The third hour.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard began to move.

Not from the main entrance.

It's a side path.

The first group to be brought out were the clerks.

When someone was called out, their legs went weak, and they had to hold onto the door frame to steady themselves.

The second batch consisted of clerks.

The third batch consisted of veteran warehouse clerks who had worked in the warehouse office their entire lives.

When they were carried out, no one cried out for justice.

No one struggled.

No one even asked a question.

Zhou Jing'an stood in the courtyard of the Ministry of War, watching as batches of people were taken away.

He was not named.

He didn't move.

A Jinyiwei (Imperial Guard) officer walked up to him and said in a flat tone, "Lord Zhou."

Zhou Jing'an cupped his hands in greeting: "Yes, sir."

"The Emperor has decreed," the centurion said. "You shall stay."

Zhou Jing'an's fingertips trembled slightly.

"Your humble servant... obeys the decree."

This is not a blessing.

It is a public display.

At the same time.

Side hall of the palace.

Zhu Han stood under the corridor.

The wind chimes on the eaves tinkled softly.

Outside the palace walls in the distance, a wisp of dust rose slowly, a sign of the movement of the cavalry.

A palace attendant hurried over and whispered, "Your Highness, the Ministry of War has sealed off the gates."

"Ah."

"The Embroidered Uniform Guards have begun to lead their men."

Zhu Han nodded.

Where is Zhou Jing'an?

"I stayed."

Zhu Han paused for a moment, then simply replied, "Okay."

The eunuch couldn't help but raise his eyes.

The prince's expression remained calm.

It's as if they already knew.

"Your Highness, would you like to... go and take a look?"

Zhu Han turned around.

At the end of the corridor, the sun was setting, casting long shadows on the palace walls, like a silent, prostrate line.

He did not go to the Ministry of War, nor did he return to the Fengtian Hall. Instead, he went straight to the East Palace along the side corridor.

The eunuch followed behind, walking very quietly, but still couldn't help but glance at him a few more times.

With this turn of his head, Prince Han seemed to have casually let go of the life and death of the entire Ministry of War.

Outside the East Palace, the guards immediately bowed to Zhu Han upon seeing him.

Zhu Han nodded and entered without announcing his presence.

The study was very quiet.

Zhu Biao was bent over his desk, looking at a stack of military supplies booklets.

The incense sticks in the burner on the table had burned to the middle, but there was almost no smoke. A breeze blew in from the window, and the pages of the paper turned gently.

Zhu Han stood at the door and watched for a while.

Zhu Biao's back was straighter than it had been a few days ago, but it was also thinner.

"Royal Uncle." Zhu Biao noticed the commotion and immediately stood up.

"Sit down." Zhu Han raised his hand and walked over to sit down first.

Zhu Biao didn't stand on ceremony anymore. He sat back down at his desk, but instead of looking at the accounts, he closed the book and put it aside.

"The matter of the Ministry of War..." he began, but paused.

Zhu Han continued, "It's already started."

Zhu Biao nodded, not pressing for further details. He knew very well that the less he knew about those details, the better.

There was a moment of silence in the study.

"Where is the Crown Princess?" Zhu Han suddenly asked.

"In the side hall, I'm copying scriptures for the Empress Dowager," Zhu Biao replied.

Zhu Han hummed in agreement and said nothing more.

His visit to the Eastern Palace today is neither to appease nor to discuss matters.

The Ministry of War case has entered another stage. What is about to happen is not suitable to be discussed in the imperial court, nor is it suitable to let too many people know about it.

Zhu Han took out a small wooden plaque from his sleeve and placed it on the table.

Zhu Biao's gaze immediately fell on the wooden plaque.

Those are not items belonging to the Crown Prince's Palace.

There were no words on the sign, only a very thin mark engraved on it, like half a broken line.

“This is…” Zhu Biao asked in a low voice.

“The Third Military Warehouse of Shuntian Prefecture,” Zhu Han said. “The secret mark of the old warehouse.”

Zhu Biao's fingers twitched slightly, but he didn't touch it.

"Has the warehouse been checked?" he asked.

"We're investigating," Zhu Han said calmly, "but the warehouse isn't the end of the case."

Zhu Biao looked up.

Zhu Han looked at him, his tone unpleasant but clear: "The grain in the granary is just the surface. What's truly critical is how the grain entered the accounts and how it disappeared."

Zhu Biao remained silent.

Zhu Han didn't say anything more, but stood up and said, "In the next few days, the Crown Prince should not interfere in any matters related to the Ministry of War. If anyone comes to make a request, do not see them."

Zhu Biao immediately replied, "Yes."

Zhu Han walked to the door and then paused.

“Biao’er.” He didn’t turn around. “You only need to remember one thing.”

"The Ministry of War is not the first, nor will it be the last."

After saying that, he left.

Zhu Biao sat in the same spot, without moving for a long time.

That night, the lights of the Imperial Guards illuminated the entire southern city of Shuntian Prefecture.

The territory of the Yisan Military Warehouse was completely sealed off.

The warehouse door made a dull thud when it was pried open.

The wooden door hadn't been repaired for years, and the hinges made a harsh, grinding sound as they turned.

The first group to enter were the warehouse inspectors from Shuntian Prefecture.

They didn't come to count the grain.

Instead, they came to find "empty seats".

The grain piles inside the warehouse appear neat, with layers of sacks stacked up, but in the corners, there are always a few places where a line is subtly left empty.

The inspector inserted an iron ruler into the warehouse, and the difference became clear.

Inside the bag was old grain.

Further in, there is sand.

"Remember," someone whispered.

The second group to enter were the Embroidered Uniform Guards.

They don't check the grain.

Only look at the accounts.

Inside the warehouse was a small accounting room, the door of which was locked and rusted shut. It was kicked open.

On the table inside, there were several account books stacked up, their covers yellowed and the pages curled at the edges.

The captain turned to the first page, his brows immediately furrowing.

The accounts were written very neatly.

The rules have been taken too far.

Every grain transaction was meticulously recorded, with the corresponding name, date, instructions, and even the weather.

But it is precisely because it is so clear that it seems wrong.

“These words,” the captain said in a low voice, “were not written by one person.”

Some people nodded.

The brushstrokes, the strength of the strokes, and the habits of signing are all different.

This was made up for by someone else.

Moreover, it was done at different times and by different people.

The third group to enter were people from the inner court.

They only brought one thing.

An old file.

That was a copy of the original account books of the Department of Revenue when the Ministry of War was first established.

The name is inside.

Chen Tingrui.

A man who has been dead for ten years.

The light in the accounting room flickered.

Someone muttered a curse under their breath.

"They really dare to use that."

Meanwhile, outside the side gate of the Ministry of War.

Zhou Jing'an has been left standing there for the entire afternoon.

Nobody paid him any attention.

No one interrogated him.

No one even offered him a place to sit. He stood in the courtyard, amidst the groups of people being carried away, like a nail deliberately left in place.

As darkness fell, someone finally arrived.

They were not members of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

He was a young eunuch dressed in the colors of the inner court.

"Lord Zhou." The voice was very soft.

Zhou Jing'an immediately cupped his hands in greeting: "Yes, sir."

"Come with me."

They didn't use the main entrance.

Instead, they went out through a small door in the back wall of the Ministry of War and got into the carriage.

There were no lights inside the car.

It took a long time.

When the car stopped, Zhou Jing'an smelled a familiar scent.

Ink, paper, and old wood.

It was the archives of the palace.

He was led into a small room.

There was only one table, one lamp, and one person in the room.

Zhu Han.

Zhou Jing'an knelt down.

"Your subject pays his respects to Your Highness."

"Get up." Zhu Han looked at the stack of booklets on the table, without looking at him. "You know why I kept you here."

Zhou Jing'an's Adam's apple bobbed slightly: "Because I was the first to handle the Yisan Warehouse."

“Wrong.” Zhu Han looked up. “Because you were involved, but didn’t sign the final document.”

Zhou Jing'an was startled.

That was ten years ago.

The Ministry of Revenue was pressing him urgently; the accounts needed to be settled, and all the official seals needed to be in order. Everyone else had signed, but he was the only one who delayed by a day.

On that very day, Chen Tingrui died.

"Your Highness..." Zhou Jing'an said in a low voice.

Zhu Han raised his hand, interrupting him.

“I won’t ask you why you didn’t sign,” he said. “I’ll only ask you one question.”

"Which route did that batch of grain take to get to Beijing back then?"

Zhou Jing'an's breathing slowed down.

“River transport,” he replied.

Which section?

"North of Qingjiangpu".

Zhu Han nodded and pushed a wooden plaque in front of him.

“This is the secret mark of the Shuntian Prefecture's Yisan Military Warehouse,” he said. “You recognize it.”

Zhou Jing'an glanced at it and nodded.

"Then you should know," Zhu Han said calmly, "that batch of grain never even reached the warehouse."

The room fell silent.

The wick popped softly.

“Tonight,” Zhu Han continued, “you will be sent back to the Ministry of War.”

"Someone will come to question you first thing tomorrow morning."

"You only need to say three things."

"First, you only manage the accounts, not the grain."

"Secondly, the accounts were made up, and the people were borrowed."

“Third,” Zhu Han looked at him, “the page you signed was taken away beforehand.”

Zhou Jing'an suddenly looked up.

Zhu Han's gaze was steady.

“You don’t need to worry,” he said. “That page will appear on its own soon.”

After closing the window, Zhu Han did not rest.

The lights in the study were still on. He sat back down at his desk and then raised his hand to retrieve the "old file clues" provided by the system.

It's not that words appear.

Rather, it is a very subtle presence.

It's as if someone gently pushed a deliberately ignored memory into view.

Zhu Han reached out and pulled a slender wooden box from the corner of the table.

The box was old; it was used to store maps when he was with the army in his early years. Now, it only contained a few insignificant copies.

He matched the "clues" together and went through it again.

Soon, his gaze fell on an inconspicuous note.

——"Qingjiangpu transshipment, signed on behalf of the customer".

No signature.

There was no official seal.

However, in the Ming Dynasty's document system, this kind of "signature on behalf of another" was itself a loophole.

Who substituted for whom? And why was it possible to substitute?
Zhu Han closed the copy and tapped his fingertips lightly on the table.

Early the next morning.

The third day after the Ministry of War sealed off the gates.

A subtle change began to emerge within Yingtian City.

There are no rumors.

There was no discussion.

However, there were noticeably more empty chairs in the duty rooms of various government departments.

Some people are sick.

Some people return to their hometowns.

Some people simply used their connections to get transferred to other posts.

They appear chaotic, but they all share a common thread—

Ten years ago, they all participated in a few instances of "signing on behalf of others".

The Embroidered Uniform Guard did not immediately take action against these people.

Instead, they remained inactive.

This silence is more unsettling than arresting someone.

afternoon.

Side hall of Fengtian Hall.

Zhu Yuanzhang is reading memorials.

He flipped through the pages slowly but forcefully, as if trying to press each page into the desk.

Zhu Biao stood by his side, remaining silent.

Footsteps could be heard outside the hall.

"Your Majesty, Prince Han has arrived."

Zhu Yuanzhang looked up.

"Let him in."

Zhu Han entered the hall and performed the usual greetings.

Zhu Yuanzhang skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point: "How are things going with the Ministry of War's accounts?"

"I haven't finished watching it yet," Zhu Han answered directly.

Zhu Yuanzhang sneered: "Are you giving them time?"

“It’s not for them,” Zhu Han said. “It’s for the account.”

Zhu Yuanzhang narrowed his eyes.

Zhu Han continued, "The accounts weren't written all at once. They have layers."

"The first floor is for the Shuntian Prefecture to see."

"The second layer is for the Embroidered Uniform Guard to see."

“The third layer,” he paused, “is for the Emperor to see.”

Zhu Yuanzhang remained silent for a moment.

"What's on the third floor?"

“Some people reached out too early,” Zhu Han said, “and then withdrew too cleanly.”

Zhu Yuanzhang closed the memorial.

"You mean, there are other people besides the Ministry of War?"

Zhu Han nodded: "Moreover, it's not in the Ministry of War."

Zhu Biao suddenly looked up.

"Imperial Uncle, are you within the Six Ministries?"

Zhu Han glanced at him but did not answer directly.

“Not the Six Ministries,” he said, “but it can influence the Six Ministries.”

The atmosphere inside the hall changed instantly.

Zhu Yuanzhang slowly stood up.

"Keep investigating," he said. "How far have you gotten to?"

"Qingjiangpu has been found," Zhu Han replied.

Zhu Yuanzhang's gaze sharpened.

Qingjiangpu was a crucial point for the Grand Canal transport.

Once that's involved, it's not just a matter of accounts.

"How do you plan to investigate?" Zhu Yuanzhang asked.

Zhu Han raised his eyes: "Not from the grain transport system."

"Then from where?"

"From people."

That night.

Qingjiangpu.

An inconspicuous post station was temporarily requisitioned.

No flags were displayed.

There was no seal.

There were just a few more seemingly ordinary constables.

Late at night, a middle-aged civil official was invited into the post station.

He was dressed neatly, but clearly in a hurry; he hadn't even had time to clean the mud off his official boots.

There was only one person inside.

Zhu Han.

Upon seeing this, the civil official's expression changed immediately, and he bowed down.

"This humble official greets Prince Han."

"No need," Zhu Han gestured for him to sit down.

The man dared not sit down, but instead bowed slightly.

“Your name is—” Zhu Han glanced at the roster in his hand, “Zhao Yuncheng.”

"Yes."

"Transport Commissioner of Qingjiangpu, in his seventh year in office."

"Yes."

Zhu Han did not speak immediately.

They simply brought up an old grievance with him.

Zhao Yuncheng only glanced at it, and sweat immediately beaded on his forehead.

That was a page of records showing a signature on behalf of someone else.

At the bottom of the signature was his personal seal. (End of Chapter)